Subject: This Afternoon
by TheBlindReader
Summary: Yet another version of the time Shaun and Rebecca hang out and listen to music, as referred to in Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood. Oneshot.


_Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. If I did, AC3 would be very, VERY different. Hint: It would be an almost good game._

 _A/N: So... Yeah. This is not my best work. But it's been sitting in my computer for like... 10 months. So I figured, why not? (Please don't answer that.)_

 _Anyway, I had a headcanon that Rebecca is a bit of a country girl at heart, and from that came this monstrosity._

* * *

Shaun Hastings is getting frustrated. Partially with himself, but mostly with the brunette seated beside him, staring at the computer on his desk.

 _Why did I think this would be a good idea?_ he wonders.

It was supposed to be a relaxing, mature way to spend the evening: two adults, listening to music, _bloody good music_ , and having pleasant discussions about what made it _really bloody good music._ But thus far, all his colleague has done is skip through each song before it could reach the second chorus.

"Did you not explicitly say you liked this artist?" he blurts out finally, after she cuts short one of the best songs on the entire playlist.

"Uh huh," she answers without so much as a glance away from the monitor. "But I have that one on my MP3 player, so I hear it all the time."

 _I suppose that_ is _a legitimate excuse..._ He calms a bit, but not much.

"And what about all those other songs you so rudely interrupted?" he asks, skeptical.

"They weren't bad," she shrugs.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Then why, pray tell, did you skip them, Rebecca?"

She smiles at him, seemingly amused at his aggravation.

 _At least one of us is enjoying them self,_ he thinks.

"I dunno, your music is just so dang..."

"Refined?" he suggests.

"I was going to say 'heavy'." She leans back in her chair, lacing her fingers behind her head.

"I fail to see how that's a problem."

"It is if you want to have some fun, Hastings."

"So sorry to break it to you, but life isn't fun."

"Maybe _your_ life isn't."

"Not since you came into it."

"Wait, are you referring to the time I saved your life?"

"Oh, indeed, bring that up-"

"You brought it up. And you're welcome."

"You know what?" He throws his hands up, exasperated. "You fancy yourself an expert on having fun, do you? Put your own music on, then!"

She blinks at him for a moment, then a sly grin spreads across her face.

 _Uh-oh..._

Her eyes twinkle as she retrieves her music player from her pocket and plugs it into the speakers beside the computer. She clicks around on the device before setting it down and turning the volume all the way up.

"I've changed my mind," he says, just as the sounds of a poorly played guitar, a piano being _murdered_ , and a _fiddle, of all things_ , fill his ears. "Take it off."

She ignores him, drumming her hands on her thighs and bobbing her head to the beat.

"Seriously, Rebecca. I think I'm going to be tone deaf."

"Hey!" She slaps his arm with the back of her hand. "Don't you talk crap about Mr. Paisley. He's a real man."

 _As opposed to what? Me?_ he wonders, perturbed, not even noticing her stand up, until suddenly she grabs his wrist. His mind goes blank from her touch, and he is unable to resist as she pulls him up, out of his seat. He stumbles once, twice over random cords on the ground as she leads, _more like drags_ , him into the middle of the room.

She turns around to face him and moves closer, till less than a foot separates them.

"C'mon, Shaun! Dance!" she says, entwining her fingers with his and swaying back and forth.

"Unhand me, you mad wench!" is what he _would_ say, if he could speak.

But something about the look in her eyes, a look he's never seen before, a look she's directing at _him_ , causes the breath to catch in his throat. He stares down a her slightly flushed face, her deep green eyes, her lips, and all at once, his trademark grey sweater is much too warm. His head spins with fragmented thoughts that all center around her, and he begins to feel rather dizzy.

Rebecca's smile fades and she releases his hands. "Hey, are you feeling okay?" she asks, concerned. "You look like you're gonna pass out..."

 _Bloody hell, man, get a hold of yourself!_

"Yeah, I, er," he manages to force out of his dry mouth, "I just..."

Her eyebrows rise slightly. "You hate it that much, huh?"

 _Oh, good heavens, no,_ he thinks. In fact, this may have just become his new favorite song.

"With every fiber of my being," he lies.

She looks a bit deflated, but simply shrugs. "Well, you can't say I didn't try." She steps away, but he doesn't follow, because he's still trying to process what just happened, and why his subconscious has decided that _Rebecca Crane, of all people_ , is a worthy object of affection. He watches in mute distress as she returns to her seat and turns off the music.

The abrupt silence jerks him back to reality, and his frustration is restored. "Oi!" he exclaims, causing Rebecca to start, "for the love of all that is holy, will you STOP SKIPPING SONGS!"

* * *

 _Thanks for reading!_


End file.
